


Let Me Care Your Worries Away

by Patchcat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: tw_fallharvest, Established Relationship, Facial Shaving, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchcat/pseuds/Patchcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is hurt.  Derek takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Care Your Worries Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedougal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/gifts).



> Written for Teen Wolf Fall Harvest 2013.
> 
> Thanks to HT for the lightning beta! Thanks to the Harvest mods for such an awesome fest!
> 
> To dedougal. I hope you enjoy your gift. :D

Stiles groaned as he rolled over, being very careful of the wound in his side and wincing as the motion pulled at his shoulder. Stupid werewolves and their throwing of defenseless humans into sharp, pointy objects. Like tree branches and thorny bushes. Didn’t they know those kinds of things just didn’t mix?

Reaching out, he was surprised to encounter cold sheets instead of the warm body that should have been there -- the warm body that had been wrapped around him when he passed out last night shortly after they got home from the hospital. Grumbling about recalcitrant werewolves and idiot boyfriends who should be playing his own personal cuddle monkey -- wolf -- monkey -- _whatever!_ \-- damn it, he pushed himself up on weak arms and attempted to sit up. 

“‘Recalcitrant’?” huffed an amused voice from the direction of the bedroom door. “Really?” Stiles turned his head to see Scott leaning against the doorframe. “You must be feeling better if you’re whipping out the twenty dollar words. Also,” he said with a smirk. “Totally telling Derek you called him a monkey.”

Stiles childishly stuck his tongue out and went back to the excruciating task of _sitting up_. A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him when he was just about to achieve victory. “Nope,” Scott said over Stiles’ whining. “I’m under strict orders to make sure _you_ don’t get out of bed.” Rolling his eyes at being presented with Epic Bitchface Face #3, Scott reached behind Stiles and plumped up his mound of pillows. “There. Lean on those. But I’m not going to be responsible for you hurting yourself more.”

Wincing and grumbling as he let Scott maneuver him into a more comfortable position, Stiles complained, “And why are you doing what Derek tells you? Just who’s the Alpha here, anyway?”

“Dude’s, like, scary as fuck when you get hurt, Stiles. You know that. And I already had to Alpha him just so he wouldn’t kill the guy who bumped you into that tree in the first place. We didn’t need an inter-pack incident, and he was well on his way to starting one.”

Stiles winced again, but not from pain this time. Derek and Scott had come a long way since those dark days at the beginning of sophomore year in high school. Less inclined toward bodily harm and more inclined to actually listen to those around him, Derek had mellowed considerably since he’d returned to Beacon Hills and had become the brother to Scott that he’d insisted he wanted to be. 

In return, Scott went to him for advice on all things werewolf that Stiles couldn’t find a clear answer for -- his input had been invaluable when the pack had gone away to college, even if that “gone away” was less than a two and a half hour trip -- and he tried to keep the Alpha persuasion to a minimum. Not so surprisingly to anyone with eyes, most of the times he’d been forced to use it in the last few years had involved Stiles in some way.

Stiles sighed and leaned his head back against the tops of the pillows, closing his eyes against the glare of the overhead light. “On a scale from cuddly bunny to whip-cracking honeybadger, how pissed off is he?”

“He’s pretty pissed, dude,” Scott answered. “He was in the kitchen earlier, digging through the cabinets. Then he was cursing at the cabinets.” Scott grinned. “Something about inconsiderate, dumbass boyfriends with a sweet tooth eating all the chocolate chips again.” Scott’s lips twisted in an amused grimace. “There may also have been something about asshole Alphas and not being allowed to ‘avenge his lover’, but I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.” He rolled his eyes.

Stiles' answering grin was unrepentant. What? Chocolate chips by the handful were a nutritious and wholesome snack, and hearing about Derek’s grumbling was never anything short of entertaining as fuck. _’Avenge his lover’? Really, Derek?_ He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a better position for his shoulder, and the grin slipped. 

“That bad, huh?” Derek only baked and cooked when he was worried and frustrated, something the pack had discovered not long after he’d returned and rented an actual apartment with a working kitchen and rooms with doors. (He never returned to the loft to live, even though he still owned it and they used it for meetings and planning sessions. There were just too many memories there that needed to stay in the past.) “What’s he making?”

Scott shrugged. “Not sure. He got out a whole bunch of stuff, then he kind of stood in the kitchen and rubbed his face before grabbing his jacket and stomping out.”

Well that explained why he hadn’t been at Stiles’ bedside when he’d woken up. He sighed and shifted again, wincing when his shoulder throbbed and his side reminded him that there was a gaping _hole in it_. (Okay, so maybe “gaping” was an exaggeration, and “hole” wasn’t _quite_ the right word -- more like a long scratch that needed stitches. That it wasn’t life-threatening or even something that would keep him down for that long was the important thing. It was just painful and uncomfortable.) He leaned back against the pillows, closed his eyes, and let the pain wash over him.

A frustrated, fondly exasperated exhalation from right above him had him cracking them back open to see Scott standing beside the bed. “Why didn’t you say something, dumbass?” Scott scolded, leaning over and putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

Immediately, warmth spread through him from the point of contact, relaxing tense muscles and drawing away the pain as thick, black lines pulsed up Scott’s arm. Stiles found himself melting back into the pillows and getting a little light headed. _Pain meds,_ he thought. _They had to have put me on something._

Scott’s voice came from the bottom of a well as Stiles’ head started to spin and drowsiness overtook him. “Sleep, dumbass. Derek’ll be here when you wake up...even if I have to Alpha his ass outta the kitchen.”

~*~*~*~*~

The next time Stiles woke up, it was to a gentle caress across his forehead as someone stroked his hair. He wrinkled his nose and leaned into it, lifting up enough to wiggle around and put his head in Derek’s lap, frowning at how tense the muscles he lay down on were. Derek huffed and buried his hand in Stiles’ hair, stroking down to his neck and giving it a firm rub.

They sat just like that for a few minutes, neither of them saying anything. Stiles could feel some of the tension slowly melt away as Derek gently stroked shoulders and down his side. He whined when Derek pulled his hand away. “Hey,” he said softly, opening his eyes and reaching up with his good arm to cup Derek’s scruffy cheek in his hand. 

Derek tilted his head, catching Stiles’ hand against his shoulder and nuzzling against it before laying a light kiss to the palm. “Hey,” he answered, rubbing his scruff against Stiles’ hand. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles paused a minute and took stock. His shoulder still throbbed a little, but that was manageable. The tear in his side ached enough that he wished for pain meds, and he said as much to Derek. “But the worst part -- oooh, that feels good. Don’t stop!” he moaned, sighing in relief as warmth suffused his injuries and black lines ran up Derek’s arm. “The worst part,” he said again. “I’m hungry, and I smell bad.” Grinning impishly at Derek, he closed one eye and demanded, “Fix it!”

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes. "Fix it yourself," he said gruffly, pulling his hand away. 

"But, Deereeeeek," Stiles whined, pushing himself up and burrowing his chin into Derek’s bicep. "I'm hurt! You supposed to be a dutiful boyfriend and cater to me." He looked up at Derek through his lashes and pouted. 

Derek's eye flashed bright blue. He pulled away, tipping Stiles back down into his lap, and a growl rumbled through his chest. A growl that Stiles felt vibrate through his whole body where it was wrapped around Derek. Just like that, his playful mood broke.

"You're mad at me." There was no question.

Derek pressed his lips together and let out a long, harsh breath through his nose. "You're hurt, Stiles," he snarled, the fingers of his free hand curling into a fist. 

For all of the tension and anger Stiles felt everywhere else, he couldn't help but notice that Derek’s other hand had resumed stroking his hair and that it was as gentle as a lamb. He reached up and smoothed the furrow in Derek’s brow. “I’m okay, Derek,” he said softly.

Derek folded up and buried his nose in Stiles’ neck. “No, you’re not,” he muttered, his words muffled against Stiles’ skin. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything to ‘fix it’. Can’t even make the asshole who did this pay --”

Stiles bounced his shoulder, cutting off Derek’s words. “Nope,” he said when Derek looked up at him, brows drawn together in annoyance. “You can’t. And do you know why?”

Derek narrows his eyes and twisted his lips. “Because Scott’s an asshole?” he grumbled. It was obvious to Stiles just from Derek’s expression that he wasn’t _too_ put out by Scott having to use his power against him, which meant that Derek was well aware that he had overreacted. Didn’t make him any happier about it -- as evidenced by the baking spree Scott had mentioned -- but he knew.

“Scott’s not an asshole,” Stiles objected, fighting back a grin. He didn’t think anyone would blame him for that. Honestly, that pout-glare thing Derek had going on was freaking adorable. He tapped Derek on the nose, snorting when Derek’s eyes crossed trying to see Stiles’ finger. “Try again.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “Because the person I should be mad at is currently angling to be waited on hand and foot and is also, by the way, an asshole?”

Some of the renewed tension had melted out of Derek’s body as Stiles’ hand wandered up into his hair, and Stiles started running his fingernails against his scalp. He yelped, though, when Stiles yanked on his hair.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed. “Why _are_ you mad at me, anyway? I’m the injured party here!” Stiles crossed his arms in indignation and then winced when the motion pulled at his injuries. With an exasperated huff, Derek gently manhandled him into a more comfortable position, settling him so that his shoulder was supported. Sighing happily, Stiles leaned his head against Derek’s neck, running his nose against his jaw. 

Derek growled and buried his nose in Stiles’ hair. “You’re an idiot, and I don’t even know why I like you.” He tightened his arms when Stiles made an affronted noise and started trying to squirm out of them. “Damn it, Stiles! Be still before you hurt yourself worse. It’s bad enough you had to be a dumbass and play some stupid game with a pack of werewolves the day of a full moon --”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Stiles interrupted. “Quidditch is _not_ a ‘stupid game’! Besides,” he continued. “Your argument is invalid.” 

“Ooooh?” Derek drawled, arching a brow in disbelief. “How do you figure?”

“Well,” Stiles responded smugly, a self-satisfied expression on his face. “For one thing, it wasn’t a ‘pack of werewolves’ I was playing with. They were mostly humans. The other team just had werewolf Beaters. For another, it wouldn’t have matter if it was the full moon or not.”

“You’re right,” Derek agreed. “Playing Quidditch with werewolves is no longer allowed.”

“Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. No.” Stiles frowned and rolled his eyes, exasperated. “This could have happened even if everyone I was playing with was human. And before you say ‘no more Quidditch’,” he hastened to add, recognizing that look in Derek’s eyes. “Allow me to remind you that lacrosse is a hell of a lot more dangerous -- not to mention running away from homicidal Alphas, paralytic kanimas, kitsune who tried to drive me insane, and everything the nemeton managed to throw at us -- and I managed to survive. It was an _accident_ , Derek. It could have happened to anyone.”

Derek grumbled for almost a full minute -- Stiles had a perfect view of the bedside clock. He timed it -- before heaving a huge, gusty sigh in defeat. “You’re right,” he said. Stiles would have raised his arms in victory, but one arm would only go so high right now. He settled for a one-armed fistpump. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Stiles’ victorious smile softened into something more gentle. “I know,” he said, grabbing Derek’s closest hand and lifting it to his lips. He laid a loving kiss across the knuckle. Taking a deep, drawn out sniff against the skin, he started swiping little kitten licks over Derek’s fingers, humming thoughtfully after each one. 

Derek stared at him with a confused frown. “What are you doing?”

Stiles just hummed and continued licking and sniffing, until he finally took one last, long lick from Derek’s wrist to the tip of his stretched out finger. Derek yelped when Stiles’ teeth dug into the side of his palm.

“Damn it, Stiles!” Derek pulled his hand away and shook it. “ _Really?!_ ”

“Told you I was hungry.” With a pouting huff, Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and brought it back to his mouth, kissing the place he’d bitten. “Scott said you’ve been baking. I was just trying to figure out what delicious, yummy delicacies await me.” He looked up through his lashes. “Feed me?”

Derek rolled his eyes and reached around to the bedside table, picking up a plate Stiles hadn’t noticed before. His eyes lit up when he caught sight of the chocolate brownies sitting on it, and Derek chuckled at his grabby hands. 

“There’s soup, too,” Derek said softly. 

Stiles’ head jerked up, chocolate crumbs falling from his mouth. Derek frowned when they hit the sheets. “Vegetable beef?” he mumbled hopefully around his mouthful.

That was Stiles’ favorite, especially the way Derek made it. He wasn’t sure what he did to it -- maybe it had something to do with ridiculous werewolf tasting abilities and spices, Stiles didn’t know -- but it was one of the most delicious things Stiles had ever had between his lips. Right up there with Derek’s dick, and that was saying something because Derek’s dick was Stiles’ favorite thing to have in his mouth.

Stiles grinned when Derek nodded and pulled his head down for a smacking kiss. Derek grumbled something about chocolate mouth and crumbs but didn’t resist all that hard’ and soon they were trading lazy kisses while the brownies were ground into the sheets. Derek rolled them, putting Stiles was on his back so Derek could hover over him, bracketing Stiles’ head with his forearms. 

“You’re getting crumbs all over the bed,” Derek murmured at Stiles’ lips. “I’m not sleeping in a crumby bed.”

Stiles hummed and kissed him again.

“You still smell like hospital.” Derek trailed his lips across Stiles’ cheek to his jaw, nosing lightly behind his ear. 

Stiles tilted his head to give Derek better access and buried his hand in Derek’s hair. His dick had been twitching since the first couple of kisses, and he tilted his hips closer to Derek’s thigh. He slid his hand down Derek’s back and flirted with the waistband of his jeans. Slowly he slid his hand underneath and cupped a handful of Derek’s ass.

Derek shifted his hips, grounding down while worrying at the skin between his teeth, then froze when Stiles stiffened under him and his moans of pleasure turned into a hiss of pain. Derek pulled away with an apologetic wince. “Sorry.”

Stiles just groaned and made a face, pulling at his hair with his uninjured hand. “Damn it,” he groused. “Guess we’ll have to be more careful until I heal up.” He leaned back toward Derek but whined because Derek was pulling away completely. “Wait. Where are you going? What about sexy times?”

Derek snorted and stood up. “I’m not having sex on a bed covered in brownie crumbs, Stiles.” He turned toward the closet. “And didn’t you want a shower?” he asked over his shoulder, raising a sardonic brow. “Something about smelling bad?”

Stiles plopped back against the pillows. “Damn it,” he said again. He kept forgetting about his injuries. He sighed heavily and rolled his head on the pillow, tracking Derek as he walked out of the closet with clean sheets.

“Get up,” Derek said, poking Stiles in the shoulder. “Go shower. I’ll change the sheets and go add some stuff to the soup.”

Stiles didn’t move, crossing his arms over his chest and poking his lip out in an epic pout. Derek just grabbed the sheet under him and tugged. When that didn’t work, he leaned over, pressed a tender kiss to Stiles’ forehead, and then scooped him up out of the bed, setting him on his feet in the middle of the room. 

He turned Stiles toward the bathroom door, ignoring his persistent pout, and swatted his butt as he headed back toward the bed. “If you hurry and quit pouting,” Derek said. “There _might_ be more brownies in there. Or I might just eat them all myself.”

Stiles mock gasped and made his way into the bathroom. “Now that’s just cruel.”

Derek just judged him with his eyebrows and pulled the dirty sheets off the bed. Stiles grinned and stepped into the bathroom, the tile cool against the bottoms of his feet, and let out a contented sigh. Sure, he was sore and a little banged up and still smelled like hospital, but he had a boyfriend who worried enough to fuss over him -- and make him soup! Can’t forget the soup -- and that made him happy.

He winced as he pulled his shirt over his head, having to move his arm a little awkwardly so as not to jostle his sore shoulder. He was very lucky it was only bruised. A very bad, very deep bruise, granted; but still, just a bruise.

Considering how he’d hit that tree, it could have been a lot worse. He’d been playing contact sports with werewolves for years and, for the most part, those he played with were good about watching their hits. Sometimes, though, there’d be someone who’d forget; or, like yesterday, someone who was newly-turned and hadn’t yet really come to terms with their new strength.

Stiles turned on the water and re-opened the door. Sticking his head out, he looked around for Derek. “Hey,” he said, grabbing Derek’s arm as he walked past. “Come help me wash? Don’t think I can reach my hair.”

Derek regarded him for a moment before his expression softened and he nodded. “Yeah. Let me go check the soup, and I’ll be right there.” He reeled Stiles in and kissed him gently, coaxing his mouth open enough to sweep his tongue inside for a tiny taste. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against Stiles’. “Go ahead and get in. Be right back.”

Stiles stole another kiss before letting go of Derek. He stepped into the shower stall and ducked under the spray, just letting the warm water cascade over him and relax some of the tenseness out of his muscles. He made sure to turn his body so that the spray didn’t hit his stitches.

He let his mind blank and drift, allowing all of the pain and tension of the last day swirl down the drain with the dirty water. He’d been having a really good time, playing Quidditch with his friends and the local pack. It was just lucky that they’d been here long enough and had a good history with the locals that this incident wouldn’t sour things. They had a good thing here. Stiles didn’t want to see that ruined over an accident. 

He felt warmed with the knowledge that Derek cared enough to be upset when he got hurt. Not that this was news or anything. They’d been together for years, had saved each others’ asses countless times even before that, and had proved that they cared for and loved each other many times since. 

He smiled and bent his head forward, allowing the water to drip across his closed eyes and down his nose. The shower door clicked open, and he leaned back against the warm body he knew would be there. Derek’s arms came around his waist, and he pulled Stiles close. 

Derek gently kissed Stiles’ shoulder, chasing the water droplets up the line of his neck. Stiles turned his head to softly catch Derek’s lips. They spent some time exchanging slow, sweet kisses before Derek plucked the shampoo bottle from the shelf in front of Stiles.

Pouring some into his hand, he tilted Stiles’ head back and started massaging the gel into his hair. Stiles moaned as pleasure shot down his spine from the pressure of Derek’s strong fingers on his scalp. He melted against Derek when those fingers moved down his neck, rubbing firmly. 

Derek turned them so that the spray pounded into his back, stepping back just enough so he could lean Stiles’ head back and rinse his hair. Stiles luxuriated in the feeling of being _cared for_ , closing his eyes and resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, leaning until Derek was a long, lean line of heat against his back. 

Derek stepped in closer, molding himself against Stiles’ back. Stiles relaxed back against him, letting Derek take his weight, and shivered at the unseen touch of cool shaving foam against his cheeks. He hadn’t seen Derek pick up the can or even heard as the foam dispensed, but he wasn’t going to argue. 

Derek shaving him was one of Stiles’ favorite things. There was only one thing that would make it better, and Stiles listened eagerly over the sound of pounding water for the _schick_ of Derek’s claws sliding out of their sheaths. Derek nosed at the skin behind Stiles’ ear and ran the backside of his sharpened nails delicately up the side of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles gasped and arched his back, then whined when Derek pulled his hand away. “You have to be still,” Derek growled in his ear, setting the razor edge of one claw against Stiles’ cheek and gently drawing it down.

The feel of that contained power, knowing what Derek was capable of, knowing that he was pulling it back, _controlling it_ , went straight to Stiles’ cock; and it took all of his concentration to stay still. He drew a sharp breath through his nose as Derek’s fingers dragged down his throat, the scraping of sharp claws an exquisite bite against delicate skin. He moaned as warm lips followed the same path, Derek laying gentle kisses along Stiles’ throat and jaw, sucking bruises into clean shaven skin.

Stiles reached up and wrapped his fingers around Derek’s hand, stopping the methodic scrape. Turning his head, he sought out Derek’s lips, catching them and kissing his deep and as filthy as he could at this angle. Derek growled into Stiles’ mouth, taking control and nipping and sucking at Stiles’ lip. 

Pulling away, Derek grabbed the washcloth off the rail and soaped it up. Running it carefully along Stiles’ side, he paused right above the line of stitches running just under his ribs. “Should you be getting these wet?” he asked quietly, brushing lightly at the skin with his thumb.

“Eh,” Stiles responded, opening his eyes and nosing at the underside of Derek’s jaw. “Just be careful and don’t get soap in it. It’ll be fine.” He laid a light kiss to the stubbled skin. 

Derek rolled his eyes at his dismissiveness. He ran the soapy cloth across Stiles’ chest and down one arm. Lifting Stiles’ hand, he brought his fingers up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle and then pulling two of them into his mouth. Stiles moaned as Derek started to suck, and he felt his dick twitch and bob with every draw of Derek’s tongue. 

Derek’s hand wandered down Stiles’ body. He dragged the washcloth lower, rubbing over his stomach and across the cut of his hips. Stiles twisted and moaned, trying to direct Derek’s wandering hand down to his straining cock. 

Derek teased the cloth all around when Stiles wanted it, dragging it through the hair below his navel and massaging at the join of his hip and thigh. All the while Stiles whined and begged. Derek pulled Stiles’ fingers out of his mouth, nipping and kissing them before pulling that arm up and hooking it around his neck. 

Stiles moaned and arched up onto his toes as Derek buried his nose in his neck and dragged the edge of one fang along the tendon that stood out there. The vibration of Derek’s growl went straight through him, and his whole body thrummed. He was so hard he could have hammered something. Preferably Derek, but from the way he was holding him, Stiles was pretty sure that wasn’t an option right now. 

He gasped and rolled his head, giving Derek better access to suck deep, dark bruises up and down his neck. “Vampire,” he panted, sliding his hand into Derek’s hair and holding him firmly in place. It was a long-running joke between them. Derek loved to mark up Stiles’ neck. 

He felt Derek’s lips curve up in a smile, and Stiles stepped back, nestling Derek’s straining dick right between the cheeks of his ass. Derek gasped and rolled his hips, skin catching against skin, and pulled Stiles closer. Then he took his hand off of Stiles’ body and stepped away. 

Stiles swayed back toward him, whining at the loss of contact. That wasn’t fair! He made to turn around, reaching out; but Derek stopped him, holding him in place under the warm spray. “Shhhhh,” he breathed into Stiles’ ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Stiles huffed and objected, “You’re not going to! Now get back here and -- “ 

Derek just shook his head and started to wash himself. “No, Stiles. I don’t want to pull your stitches.” 

Stiles turned around and narrowed his eyes at Derek. “So you’re just gonna leave me like this? ‘Cause I can tell you, Derek, _this_? Hurts a whole hell of a lot more than my damned stitches do.” 

Derek just continued to clean himself, his brows drawn together in concern; and Stiles knew he’d have to take drastic measures. 

"Fine, then,” he said, lips pressed together in a thin line. Turning around, he leaned back against Derek and slid his hand down his stomach, gripping the base of his cock and stroking up. He moaned as he dragged his thumb across the head, playing across the slit before dragging back down. He thrust his hips as he stroked, making sure to rub his ass right across Derek’s dick. 

Stiles gasped when Derek’s slick hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with firm pressure, just like Stiles liked it. He’d obviously gotten the waterproof lube from the shelf behind them. They always made sure there was a good supply of it, even since the first time. Both of them would shudder anytime they brought it up. The chaffing had been epic. Stiles had bought the first bottle just to stop the bitching, and Derek made sure it was always available. 

Stiles could have cheered in triumph as Derek molded himself against him again, his slicked dick rubbing in counter rhythm to Derek’s strokes on Stiles. Stiles arched his back, wincing a little at the twinge in his side, and ground back against Derek...and Derek stopped, letting go and stepping away. 

Stiles grunted in frustration and jerked back down, gasping in pain as the movement pulled at his stitches. “Wha -- What -- Derek,” he panted. “What the hell?!” 

“I told you,” Derek growled. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

And finally, through the haze of lust and arousal, Stiles _got it_. He reached behind him and grabbed Derek’s hip, pulling him back in. He moved Derek’s hand from where it dangled at his side and brought it around, putting it back on Stiles’ dick, where it belonged. Then he lifted his uninjured arm, sliding his hand into Derek’s hair and pressing his face into his neck. He stopped moving and waited, hoping that Derek would understand what he was wordlessly trying to say. 

“Yessss,” Derek breathed, pulling harshly at Stiles’ cock for a couple of strokes before gentling his touch. Stiles hissed and moaned as the rhythm built once more, biting at his lips to keep from moving and stopping the amazing sensations Derek was coaxing out with his touch. 

Derek’s cock dragged and caught against his rim, sliding roughly with every snap of his hips. Stiles loved the feel of Derek behind him, the play of the muscles in his stomach as they bunched and flexed against his back driving him higher. His fingers crooked against Derek’s neck and he knew, had Derek been human, there would have been some pretty deep scratch marks there come morning. 

Stiles was close, his orgasm within reach but not quite there. He moaned as much to Derek, who reached around with the hand that had been braced against the wall and pulled him closer, reaching down between his legs and rolling his balls, giving them a firm tug as he bit down into Stiles’ neck. 

It was too much, and Stiles came with a shout that echoed off the bathroom walls. Derek growled and his hips sped as Stiles relaxed bonelessly against him, held up only by Derek’s grip on him. Derek fit the tip of his dick right against Stiles’ hole, pressing against it just hard enough to hold it there but not actually penetrate. Stiles could feel Derek’s arm against his back as he jacked himself off, his pace blistering and the sounds coming from him enough to make Stiles’ spent cock twitch in valiant interest. 

Stiles felt him stiffen and could imagine what he looked like -- head thrown back and fangs bared in a snarl -- as warm wetness splashed against his skin where the water couldn’t reach. Derek’s breath was harsh in Stiles’ ears. Stiles pet through Derek’s hair, rubbing soothingly at the wet strands as they caught their breath, coming down from their orgasms. 

They stood for a while under the slowly cooling spray, just basking in the afterglow and enjoying their closeness. But finally Derek loosened his grip and picked up the discarded washcloth, soaping it up and doing a cursory wipe on both of them before reaching behind him and turning off the water. They stepped out of the shower onto the cool tile, and Derek stopped Stiles when he reached for a towel. 

“No,” he murmured, stepping in close and taking the towel. “Let me.” 

Stiles huffed and made to protest -- he wasn’t a fainting little girl, thank you very much -- but the look on Derek’s face stopped him. There was concern and worry, and it was obvious to Stiles that Derek wasn’t done reassuring himself that Stiles was okay. He nodded and let Derek carefully and gently dry him, his hands soft even when they ruffled his hair. He took special care around the stitches, taking a corner and dabbing lightly. 

“No,” Stiles said, catching Derek’s hand when he reached for the bandages. “Let it air dry a little. Just to make sure.” 

Derek nodded and rubbed himself dry, but kept Stiles close until he was done. Bundling him up in a dry towel, Derek plastered himself across Stiles’ back and steered them to the bed. Stiles yelped -- it was a manly yelp, okay! -- when Derek swept him off his feet and deposited him on top of clean sheets. Sitting up, Stiles pulled the covers out from under him, burrowing down and making grabby hands at Derek. Derek slid in after him, manhandling Stiles until he was settled on his good side with Derek curled protectively around him, his nose buried in the nape of Stiles’ neck. 

Later, there would be vegetable soup and more brownies -- because Stiles was still hungry, damn it -- and soft lazy kisses followed by pain killers and slightly uncoordinated handjobs. But for now, Stiles was content to relax back into Derek’s arms, warm, safe, and cared for. 


End file.
